


I want to break free

by janie_tangerine



Series: the jaimebrienne spite countdown to season eight [22]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brienne is the Best, Cats, Cersei Lannister's A+ Parenting, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dorks in Love, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Halloween Costumes, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jaime Lannister's Actual A+ Parenting, M/M, Multi, Musical References, Not For Cersei Fans I Warned You, POV Alternating, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Pegging, Queen References, Queen Stans in Love, Self-Indulgent, Spitefic, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, Woman on Top, did watching bohemian rhapsody when it came out destroy me WELL IT MIGHT, let jaime father his kids 2k19, of the worst kind, the author is pretty much not even hiding her preferences, tyrion ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 02:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18420660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Tommen discovers a new favorite band, Tyrion pays Jaime a favor, Jaime gets to reconnect with at least one of his children, Brienne is a responsible adult who might want to act up on a few fantasies, Loras and Renly are pro enablers and everyone is down with some healthy dismissal of gender roles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AAAND WELCOME TO SPITEFIC TRAIN NUMBER 22 (which hopefully will tide you over for a few days because I'm officially behind and rl isn't letting me loose until the 16th so HOPEFULLY I can catch up with a couple and then the rest happens next week /o\\). Now, this one admittedly was planned ten minutes after I came out of watching _Bohemian Rhapsody_ last December but then stuff happened, I didn't manage to write it before now and I figured that I would ALSO use it for the spiteficcing. Specifically, today's gem is:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> At this point I'm not even commenting that because it's not even imaginative, like I picked three with the same idea behind it and I had to dismiss ten others. Yawn.
> 
> INSTEAD I'm just gonna inform you that this thing happened because I decided that if modern au Tommen ever saw BoRap he'd turn into a die hard Freddie Mercury stan because of the cats, which in turn became OKAY BUT THEN WHAT IF JAIME IS ALSO INTO QUEEN which with some, er, *support* from people who shall not be named turned into 'okay but you know you really want to get to the point where you put people in the I Want to Break Free outfits', so... guys I mean, there's a reason why I realized that I was gonna post my fic #400 on AO3 for these series and I decided that fuck it it was gonna be THE CROSSDRESSING FIC WHERE JAIME IS IN THE ROGER TAYLOR OUTFIT EVERYTHING IS FLUFF NOTHING HURTS AND YOUR DENTIST LOVES ME because you'll honestly need one after finishing this. I warned you. Anyway, as stated, this is my top of self-indulgence. Hopefully I'll win you over to my side. xD
> 
> Also: I own nothing, don't judge Tyrion for bringing an eight year-old to see that movie when the time I went to see Watchmen (which was rated not for minors) it was full of six year-olds because the parents thought it was your usual superhero movie, I think the title speaks for itself, I'll saunter back downwards to the rl stuff and to hopefully finish the next spitefic xD
> 
> Also: Jaime would *so* love _The Game_ , you'll pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands. ;)

Tyrion knows that he might have made a great mistake bringing Tommen along to see _Bohemian Rhapsody_ when, ten minutes into the movie, his nephew turns towards him and whispers, “Did Freddie Mercury _really_ have that many cats?”

Tyrion, who knows exactly how many cats Freddie Mercury had _and_ their names as well because when it’s your brother’s favorite band you _will_ know, and who knows also that Cersei would hate the bare concept of any of her offspring being into _this_ one band, doesn’t have the heart to lie to him — he’d find out on the internet, anyway.

“Yes,” he whispers back. “Actually, I think he had more.”

“I see,” Tommen replies, and when they get to the point where he finds out that Freddie Mercury not only owned an insane amount of cats but each of them had its own room, he can see on Tommen’s face that he came inside this cinema probably only knowing _We Are The Champions_ and will walk out of it wanting to buy that band’s full discography.

Thing is: he brought him because Cersei dumped babysitting on him at the last moment (of course) since she had to _go distract herself_ after her divorce, and he and Bronn already booked tickets, and Tommen had said he’d have loved to see a movie with them, and so he figured there would be no harm in it. Fine, he had to assure the cashier that he _did_ know it was rated 12A but the kid absolutely could handle it, and the cashier hadn’t protested given that it was _two_ adults bringing him, but then again Tyrion has a feeling that given with whom the kid lives it wouldn’t have been _anything_ happening in such a movie causing him trauma for the rest of his years. And it _hasn’t_ , so score for him.

The other problem is: Tyrion _also_ knows that Cersei barely tolerates those two cats in the house, never mind Joffrey, and he _also_ knows that Cersei hates Queen with a vengeance since they were Jaime’s favorite band growing up and while it never was a problem before, well, _before_ , now that not only he _finally_ cut things off with her also by leaving her a mixtape of Queen songs (that she hates) and that he’s been together for a year with his fellow history TA who _also_ is into that band, she never actually wanted any of her kids to come into contact with things Jaime _liked_ , never mind _really_ was into.

Christ. Most of the time he can’t believe they actually —

Tyrion is so _not_ going to think about the amount of _wrong_ in those two’s relationship that always was there since he can remember, same as he remembers even too well how Jaime seemed to turn into a different person whenever discussing _her_ or thought _they actually were the same person_ (as if, they couldn’t be any more different), how he pretty much never had any friends outside the two of them until he went to university (and how Cersei was pissed off he went for history instead of taking economics with her), and oh, right, how _he knows perfectly that Jaime is the father of her kids_ but she never let him get too close to them because God forbids Robert found out. Not that it matters, since Robert fucked off to Brazil a few months ago. But it’s not as if anything changed, other than that.

He’s also not too surprised that Jaime finally gathered the guts to cut things off with her after she (as far as Tyrion knows) had promised him she at least would make him attend Tommen’s birthdays and then of course she took it back.

And then he wonders _why_ Jaime has been trying to straighten his shit out for _years_ and why he’s only ever found the guts to ask Brienne out a year ago when they’ve known each other since they were both TAs for Catelyn Stark and they went together to Queen cover bands concerts for years.

Anyway, long story short: Cersei is going to kill him if she finds out that Tommen actually _likes_ Jaime’s favorite band, so, after he’s handed his nephew a copious amount of tissues just as the Live Aid section starts and after he’s bought him ice cream after they leave so that he cheers himself up, _some_ , he begs him to _not_ tell his mother that _Tyrion_ brought him to that movie.

Tommen, who at eight should _not_ understand immediately why Tyrion is horribly worried about the possible consequences, nods and says that of course he won’t, he’ll just say some friend of his at school talked about it or _something_ if it comes up.

“I guess there’s nothing of theirs at home, is it? Because I really liked all of the songs, actually,” Tommen says.

_If you went to your uncle’s — pardon, your_ real _father’s, you’d find also the solo records_ , he wants to say, but then keeps his mouth shut. “No,” he sighs, “but let’s make a deal. Your mother doesn’t find out we came here, I’m getting you the _Greatest Hits_ for Christmas and she’s not going to know. Deal?”

Tommen’s green eyes suddenly turn brighter as he says, _deal_.

Tyrion, who knows that Jaime is most likely _not_ getting invited for Christmas in the first place, sighs and shakes his head before they head back to Bronn’s car.

They drop Tommen off at home just in time.

Then —

“Tyrion,” Bronn says, “you _are_ aware you just signed that kid’s death sentence?”

“What was I going to tell him, _no_? Come the fuck on. He was really into it.”

“Yeah, and is _Jaime_ going to know?”

Tyrion groans. “I should probably tell him, but — probably not now.”

Not when he’s pretty much been banned from coming over because Cersei has put her foot down and said that she doesn’t want him around until he’s with Brienne, and Tyrion knows that he’s _not_ going to break it off just to come back for Christmas parties with the family, and _good thing that_ — it was time that asshole put his own well-being before their fucking sister’s.

And still, _he_ was the one who had to listen to Jaime getting drunk out of his mind just after he cut things off with Cersei for real and regretting he never even got to see any of those kids of his up close.

Honestly, if Jaime knew, he’d probably feel even worse about this entire bloody mess.

Better that he keeps his mouth shut.

Still, it’d really have been an asshole move if he had tried to kill Tommen’s interest in Freddie Mercury and his cats just _now_.

Well, nothing to do about it. On one side, maybe it’s better if it’s a temporary thing.

Maybe it could be.

But if Tommen is anywhere like Jaime, and he _is_ , that Tyrion has had ample proof of, there’s no way this is going to be temporary.

No bloody way.

——

As agreed, he sneaks Tommen the _Greatest Hits_ for Christmas.

_Somehow_ , for some kind of miracle, Cersei doesn’t find out immediately — Tyrion imagines that Tommen got smart when listening to it and only put it on if no one else was in the house. As it is, Cersei hasn’t found out when March rolls by, Tyrion is on nephew-watching duty again and Tommen says that he’s somehow found out that there is a volume two of that Greatest Hits, and they couldn’t go buy it, could they?

Tyrion curses his nephew’s ability to come up with that pleading stare that remind him of Jaime’s when he came up to him begging for algebra help and to please _not_ tell their father he asked for it, and he says that if they are quick maybe they can manage before Cersei is back, there’s one surviving record shop some ten minutes from the house.

Jon Connington’s shop is indeed open, and has the blasted _Volume Two_.

Tyrion pays for it, they stick it into Tommen’s backpack and they’re back home with five minutes to spare.

“Thanks,” Tommen tells him as they go back home, “you’re the best.”

Tyrion about wants to say it’s really nothing, and only shrugs and says that hey, now that he owns it at least he can listen to it properly, right?

Fuck, he _really_ hope Cersei doesn’t find out.

——

Cersei _does_ find out.

Or better: Joffrey finds out thanks to a complicated system of school gossip that included some mean girl in his circle talking to another mean girl she’s related to in Myrcella’s class and whateverfuckingelse happens with children’s gossip these days, and by the time Tyrion finds out… she has threatened to finally get rid of the damned cats as Joffrey hates them anyway, she’s thrown both records into the trash and from what Tommen tells him on the phone in between fits of tears, she pretty much implied that if she found him listening to that crap which was _also_ the reason their uncle apparently lost his mind and sense, he was never going to hear the end of it.

_This would be the perfect moment to tell Jaime_ , he sighs. Also if anything, that _crap_ was one of the reasons Jaime actually _didn’t_ completely fuck up his life, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You know what,” he says, “maybe I can get you another couple for your birthday. And maybe I can keep them until she’s reasonable, how about it?”

Tommen thanks him after saying _I don’t understand what was so wrong with it_ , and Tyrion thinks, _you don’t even want to know the half of it_.

Honestly, the day Jaime decided he was done with her and with their creepy unhealthy relationship, he sent her a mixtape and the _first_ song on side A was _I Want To Break Free_.

There is a _lot_ that is horribly wrong with it, according to Cersei, and Tyrion is sure as hell _not_ going to be the person explaining to Tommen that he’s the result of his siblings re-enacting _Flowers in the Attic_ in real life.

(He read that book once. It was the only time he threw a book in the trash in his entire life and he doesn’t regret it for one single second.)

Still. He goes to the record shop, buys another two copies of both Greatest Hits volumes, and hopes that Cersei doesn’t _really_ follow through on that threat or _he_ ’s going to have to keep the cats, because like _hell_ she’ll be fine if Jaime gets them.

Actually, she’d most likely drown the poor things if she knew Jaime got them.

Yeah, better not risk it.

Better fucking _not_.

——

In the next months, Cersei does _not_ drown the cats, thankfully, and neither does Joffrey, even if Tyrion strongly suspects he might one day. Tommen’s birthday in May passes in the usual barely-there recognition — the only person in the house who gets large parties thrown for their birthday is Joffrey, for that matter, and of course Jaime isn’t invited, Robert calls from Brazil (he’s apparently _not_ moving back to the UK anytime soon, but then again after the divorce he pretty much disappeared and Tyrion doesn’t think he’ll ever show up again before his _supposed_ kids turn eighteen), Tommen only gets presents he most likely doesn’t care for, and it’s probably sad that he looks happier when he’s over at Tyrion’s the following week and he gets to listen to _A Night at the Opera_ and Tyrion slips him some book with the band’s history that he bought along with the record.

Of course Tyrion keeps the record, but it’s also obvious that the kid really, _really_ loves it. He brings the book home.

A month later, he says he managed to read it before Joffrey found out and threw it in the trash, and Tyrion is about to ask if he needs to get another that _he_ will keep.

“No,” Tommen says, “I don’t want another one. I mean, they’d find out at some point. It’s just, I don’t get what’s _wrong_ with it?”

“Nothing,” Tyrion sighs. _Just your mother_ , he doesn’t say. “But she’ll stop caring at some point. I mean, how long does she think she can keep you from listening to people _that_ popular?”

Tommen shrugs. “It’s just — I really like that they have songs about pretty much _everything_ and in all those different styles but at the same time you can recognize them, and the lyrics are really good, the ones I heard anyway, and… I don’t know but it sounds like they’re saying you can be and do whatever you want and it’s a good thing and… I think it’s great?”

Ouch.

Jaime told him exactly the same thing when he was seventeen or something.

Tyrion _really_ needs some alcohol here, but he figures he’ll have a drink later.

“She’ll see it. Or she’ll start ignoring it.” He shrugs. “But don’t let her ruin it for you. I mean, you should like what you like.”

“Yeah, but — I mean. What I like seems to always be… not right. But whatever Joffrey does is fine. I mean, is there something wrong with me?”

_Ouch_.

Tyrion really, _really_ hopes that something changes and either Cersei stops being _like that_ or… he doesn’t know what, but it’s ridiculous that the kid is _eight_ and he can’t even enjoy a damned singer in peace.

——

Then Cersei shows up drunk at the next corporate meeting at the company (good thing Tyrion is there because he’s the top of the accounting department but he just _has_ to be there, not to talk), tells extremely unprofessional and mean things to poor Melara Hetherspoon from PR who apparently hasn’t done her job well enough (she _has_ , but she’s the least-ranking person in this room and the newest hire _and_ newest promoted, so she’s the perfect target) and it ends with Cersei pretty much slapping the poor girl in the face hard enough that she loses her balance and hits her nose on the table.

She breaks it and blood gushes all over the floor.

Someone else films the entire thing and puts it on YouTube.

Tyrion is _not_ , for once, the subject of his father’s ire when he learns about it, but it’s bad enough that he doesn’t even think, _well, now you know how it feels._

——

“We _cannot_ let social services show up,” his father finally says after screaming loud enough that Tyrion is honestly surprised the windows didn’t break. “ _And_ my contact in the police just warned me that _Melara Hetherspoon_ pressed charges.”

“ _What_? That little —”

“Cersei,” Tyrion says, “given that she bled all over the goddamned floor and you _broke her nose_ and she has evidence, she’d be a fucking idiot if she didn’t sue.”

“He’s right,” his father says, and Tyrion about falls off his chair. _Is he fucking agreeing with me now?_ Sure as hell he has to be pissed off beyond belief. “The girl would be a downright idiot to _not_ do it, especially because someone has most likely told her that we’d settle before bringing it to court and she wouldn’t need to work ever again. And given that you went off on her for no bloody reason —”

“That campaign’s plan was _awful_!”

“That campaign’s plan was _fine_ and we had all voted for it,” Tywin says, and his voice sounds so cold that Tyrion doesn’t know how the hell Cersei hasn’t just given up and let him handle the mess. “And her work was good. _I_ hired her, and I don’t hire slackers. Anyway, she is going to sue, _and_ on top of that, my contact also informed me that unless we take very quick measures now, they’re sending social services to your house.”

“They’re sending _who_?”

“ _CPS_ , Cersei,” Tyrion groans. “I mean, you showed up _drunk_ at a meeting and hit her in the face, you have _three_ minors in the house, she’s pressing charges, it doesn’t matter how rich we are, they _are_ going to send them.”

“Exactly,” Tywin says. God, is he agreeing with Tyrion _twice_ in a row?

Fucking hell. This is so weird he can’t even wrap his head around it.

“Which is _we_ need to act before they actually send them over. I suppose Joffrey can come staying with me, it’s high time he learns the ropes.”

“ _Sorry_?” Cersei protests.

“Right, I forgot. Of course, I will settle with Miss Hetherspoon, but I am _not_ bailing you out.”

“Father, you wouldn’t —”

“Cersei, you’ve been out of control with both your drinking and your… _sleeping habits_ since the divorce. And since your damned brother left the company, _you_ are the only family-related face we have in PR, which means that _I cannot bloody afford this_. You can’t be drunk out of your mind at board meetings, you can’t hit your employees and since Robert left you’ve been worse and worse, so I think some time away from the scene will do you good and we can spin it making _him_ look bad for leaving you while you put your shit together.” Woah. He _swore_. Tyrion is really, really happy that he’s not at the other end of this conversation. “Which means the children _cannot_ stay with you or on their own. A few months will do the trick, I suppose. Now, as I said, Joffrey can come stay here. Myrcella would most likely be better off with Genna,” he mutters. “But she can’t take Tommen, too, I think.”

Well, given that Aunt Genna lives with her husband’s family, which automatically translates into some _twenty_ cousins/nephews/ _whatever_ named Frey around it, Tyrion can believe that she doesn’t have space for two people in separate rooms.

Cersei doesn’t dare breathe as their father stares at Tyrion. “He could go with _you_ , I suppose.”

“Like _hell_!” Cersei protests. “My son is _not_ going to live with him. _Anyone but him_ , I forbid it!”

Tyrion had suspected she’d say it, and he’s not particularly hurt by it, he has learned to ignore it when he was seven out of self-preservation and when he realized his sister would never _love_ him, so it was useless to look for her approval, but _then_ —

Then he realizes that since it seems like for once his fucking father is on _his_ side, as unlikely as it seems, _maybe_ he can have a little revenge here and do some good.

“ _Anyone_?” He asks.

“I’d rather have him with Satan than with _you_ ,” Cersei spits.

Tywin looks _increasingly_ pissed off.

Good.

“Then I think I have the perfect solution,” he grins. “If Father agrees, of course.”

“Share,” Tywin says.

“Well,” Tyrion says, “I was going to say that my place is rather small and — my friends aren’t really good company to have around an eight-year old.” _Who also doesn’t need to know that Bronn and I are fucking_. “But Jaime has a nice two-story house, he lives on his own except when his girlfriend is around and maybe one day she’ll move in, but it’s still two people in a two-story house with, like, three guest rooms. He’s been doing fairly well actually, so he could afford it, and while Cersei probably can’t attest to it since she’s never been there, Miss Tarth is actually very nice and only drinks casually, so if CPS should show up _there_ they would never have an issue. And who knows, maybe that could convince him to not be so estranged with you all anymore if the ban on his girlfriend is lifted.”

Cersei opens her mouth, enraged, but Tywin raises a hand and she immediately closes it. He seems to be thinking about it. And — while Tyrion knows that their father wasn’t too big into the idea of his firstborn getting together with his former-TA-colleague (now they’re both full-on teachers) who happens to not look very photogenic, to be middle-class and not to come from _that_ much money, he also never liked that his precious firstborn had pretty much raised a middle finger at all of them, and he could probably tolerate the middle-class _unattractive_ girlfriend if it meant he’d get grandchildren with his surname to continue the legacy. Honestly, the one reason Jaime’s not even keeping civil relations was Cersei’s ban, not _his father’s_.

“That’s actually a good idea,” Tywin finally says.

“ _What_ —”

“You said _anyone but him_ ,” Tywin says. “Jaime is _not_ him. Tyrion, I suppose that as the only person he speaks to in this family _you_ will ask him?”

“I can call him now,” Tyrion smirks.

“Well then. I will arrange things for Myrcella if you worry about it. Cersei, this is _not_ negotiable. I don’t agree with his choice in _girlfriends_ , either, but if he won’t bend on it, then it’s nonsensical to wait for him to change his mind. _Call him_.”

Tyrion, who _knows_ that the more time passes the more Jaime regrets having gotten along with Cersei’s shit when it came to _his damned children_ and that he regrets having barely been in their lives, smiles slightly to himself, takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room so he doesn’t hear Cersei trying to protest the decision.

Then he finds Jaime’s number and presses _call_.

Jaime better realize how much he fucking owes him.


	2. Chapter 2

“I forgot something, didn’t I? Fuck, I _know_ I didn’t clean under —” Jaime starts, for the fifth time since they actually put away the cleaning supplies.

“You _did_ ,” Brienne interrupts him. “Under _both_ beds.”

“… Right,” Jaime sighs, dropping on the sofa. “Sorry, it’s just, I _really_ don’t want to fuck this up.”

Brienne, who _has_ been aware of Jaime’s issues when it came to the kids he never actually fathered

 

( _he told her the day they were both accepted for their second PhD and went for drinks together to celebrate and he couldn’t seem to keep up the good mood after his sister called him and he was already buzzed and he was sure she’d be disgusted, as if she could after knowing him for four years and having had a crush on him for at least two of them_ )

 

and who had about decided she’d buy Tyrion a _lot_ of drinks after he told her how exactly this whole thing had been arranged, sits down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Listen, you actually _cleaned the attic_ when you’ve set foot there twice in the entire time you’ve lived here, I think those cats can see themselves in the floor, you about _completely remodeled_ the guest room, even if he hasn’t seen you in years he will recognize the effort.”

Jaime gives her a terse nod, but then he sighs wistfully while looking at the walls. “Fuck, maybe I should have taken that stuff down.”

“ _What_?” He’s had those Queen framed posters up since he moved here and he had a couple of them in his dorm in uni, why would he need to take them down?

“It’s just, Cersei was here just once and she said it looked like a teenager’s room but just, well, all over the place. Maybe he’s going to think —”

“Stop it right there,” Brienne says, and fine, when they met being around him felt like being around a sixteen year-old half of the time when he was twenty-five, but when she learned that it was when he and his sister, well, _had sex_ for the first time _and_ that he only ended up things with her a few months before they met… a lot of things were clear. And like hell she’s going to begrudge him for putting on posters on his living room’s wall when it’s not as if she’s _that_ much better about it. “Or should I remind you that the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last before I go to bed is —”

“Brienne, I’ve woken up in front of your blow-up framed poster of Roger Taylor drumming half-naked enough times, _thank you_.”

“And would you say I’m _not_ a functional adult?”

“Please, you were a functional adult at nine, probably.”

“Thanks, but that’s the exact point. Jaime, fuck’s sake, do I have to remind you that we started being civil to each other when we were both about to kick Ronnet Connington where the sun doesn’t shine for having said Freddie Mercury was an overrated singer?”

“… No,” he replies, sounding fond, but _she_ also did.

Okay, then he found out that he had been an ass to her and asked her out on a bet when they were in their last year of master’s, which had turned into Jaime punching that ass in the face anyway because hell, they might have disagreed about everything up to that point but she knew her Middle Ages and she wasn’t a pain to work with and asking people out as a joke is just a damned dick move anyway… but yeah. They _did_ start getting along after finding _that_ out.

“Right. I mean, you love that band, you’ve _always_ loved that band and honestly, I wouldn’t change your tendencies when it comes to blathering for one hour about how Brian May is a superior human being for the world, why the hell should you hide it? Because your sister hates them? Tough luck, I don’t remember you caring until now.”

He runs a hand over his eyes. “I don’t,” he sighs. “But I don’t know what she told him or what he’s going to think, and just, I _can’t_ tell him the truth, obviously, but I don’t want to fuck it up for the time I’ll get, you know?”

“From what your brother says he really is _not_ Joffrey,” she says, hoping she sounds encouraging. “Also hey, at worst you can discuss cats.”

Jaime glances at the corner, where all three of the house cats are currently having dinner. “Yeah, hopefully they’ll get along with his own. Fuck, five days wasn’t enough time to get even barely mentally ready for this.”

“Please,” Brienne says, “you’ve been mentally ready for years, I think.”

“ _What_ —”

“We met when he was what, two?, and you started discussing how much you regretted it some four years later, which means it’s been _another two years_ , you’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you have a point,” he admits, his fingers finding hers. “Fuck, _please_ swear to me you’re not leaving me on my own with this.”

“Come _on_ , I’m not that kind of asshole.”

“Well, _you_ are not the asshole in this relationship. Then again, since _you have a type_ —”

“Roger Taylor is _not_ an asshole,” she protests, but weakly.

“Oh, so you’re saying that _I_ am and he’s not?”

“ _You_ called yourself one,” she says, and she’d have kissed him if they hadn’t heard someone ring at the door downstairs.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says, “can you open?”

“Jaime, _no_. At most _we_ are opening, I’m not letting you worry about it while I make pleasantries.”

“Right, can you tell them we’ll be down in a minute at last?”

“ _Okay_ , fine.” She opens the window, looks down at the street — Tyrion is there, Tommen is there, Bronn is on the car, they have two cat carriers in between them and the luggage is probably still in the trunk. “We’ll be down in a moment, hold on,” she calls out. Tyrion tells her it’s fine. Good.

She closes the window.

Jaime has changed from his old, worn-out t-shirt that he bought at one of the Queen concerts they did with Paul Rodgers to a normal green one. “Right, now we can go.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to pretend he _doesn’t_ wear band shirts in the house, but there’s no time for this _now_ , so she drags him down the stairs, wishing _she_ had put on one of _her_ damned band t-shirts just to prove a point. The living room is spotless clean, the kitchen is, too, and Jaime looks like he might faint. She wants to tell him that no eight-year old in existence gives a damn about spotless floors, then she remembers who Jaime’s father is and doesn’t even go there.

Then she pushes him in front of her while she opens the door so that he can’t send her forward or anything of the kind.

The sadly hilarious thing is that Tommen looks even _more_ nervous than Jaime — he’s holding on to that cat cage like someone’s going to take it from him and for a moment they look at each other and say hi and it’s just… _awkward_.

Then again, as far as she knows the last time they saw each other it was Tommen’s fourth birthday party, Jaime had shown up for about half an hour and his sister about sent him away forcefully, so… it makes sense, she figures.

Tyrion clears his throat. “So, are you going to let us in or what?”

“Right,” Jaime says. “Sorry, we can — sure.” He moves to the side. “Just get in. Is Bronn —”

“Bringing the suitcases? Yes, don’t worry about it.”

“By the way,” she says, “since your uncle is _rude as hell_ and won’t introduce people to each other, I’m Brienne.” She leans down a bit so that she’s not looming over him.

“Hi,” Tommen says, smiling shyly. “Wow, your eyes are very pretty — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

She leans down, figuring that like this she won’t look too overbearing. “Oh, I’ll take a nice compliment. He wasn’t as courteous when we met.”

“You’re _not_ perjuring my case here, _darling_ ,” Jaime snorts from behind her, but he sounds slightly less tense now. “Also, I always thought your eyes were the clearest, most beautiful shade of blue in existence.”

“Yeah, you just didn’t say it outright.”

“Why, you’d have taken me seriously if I did?”

“Point taken. Anyway, never mind my _clear blue eyes._ And _they_ are?” She asks, pointing at the two black cats inside the carrier in Tommen’s hands. Tyrion had a smaller one with just one cat.

“Oh, the one with white paws is Boots and this other one is Miss Whiskers. The one inside the other cage is Pounce. I mean, it’s kind of stupid names, but —”

“They’re nice names, don’t worry,” she smirks, “and it’s not like Jaime here isn’t a dork as well.”

“I’m _not_ — ah well, I _might_ be,” he shrugs, and _then_ two things happen at once.

First, while Tyrion opens the cages, Jaime’s three other cats appear on the top of the stairs and start walking down towards them, and Tommen immediately looks delighted at seeing _more_ of them, but then he moves to take a better look.

And _then_ he finally notices the full-length framed poster depicting _Queen II_ ’s cover on the living room wall, just above the record player.

(It’s the only free space, the rest of that wall is covered in shelves packed with records.)

His green eyes go so wide it would almost be adorable, _if_ Brienne didn’t have a vague idea of why. (Tyrion told her _something_ but begged her to _not_ tell Jaime and now she can see why.)

“Oh,” Tommen says, “you — you like them?”

“ _Well_ —” Jaime starts.

“I think you should just tell him how did you name those cats already,” Tyrion says, sounding like he’s having a _lot_ of fun.

Jaime glares at him, then looks at the three cats that just got downstairs and are now sniffing around Tommen’s, but they look fairly fine with it.

“Right,” he says. “The one with the blue eyes and blonde fur is Roger, _obviously_ , the grey one is Figaro and the orange one is Delilah, and _yes_ , I know you’re judging me, I don’t give a fuck. _Her_ cat is named _Innuendo_ , I think she beats me.”

“I never said I _wasn’t_ a dork,” Brienne says. “Anyway, you know what, I think that while Tyrion and I go help poor Bronn with the suitcases, _you_ can show him to his room and give him the tour of the house, how about it?”

“Sounds great,” Tyrion says. “I’m in.”

“Yeah, _maybe_. So, you coming up? If you want me to show you my bootleg collection later, it’s fair game.”

Tommen’s eyes go _even_ wider. “You have a _bootleg collection_?”

“I have _videos_ ,” Jaime winks, and at that point Brienne is sure she doesn’t need to trail him anymore.

They go upstairs while the cats keep on sniffing at each other.

Tyrion clears his throat. “Am I wrong or he _really_ cleaned things up around here?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Brienne says, “for the last two days. I don’t know how much crap we trashed. It probably was good, now he has _more space for the bootlegs_.”

“Sure he does,” Tyrion grins. “I suppose you didn’t tell him.”

“I told you I wouldn’t, of course I didn’t. And you didn’t tell Tommen, did you.”

“Oh, yeah, should I have told him _your other uncle actually loves that band but if your mother knows you talk to him she’s going to ruin both of your lives even worse than she has already_? Please. I just hope _you_ don’t mind —”

“Of course not.” Brienne doesn’t even let him finish. “He’s been hating that he never actually had a part in — well, _their_ lives since… _early_ in our acquaintance, I wouldn’t _mind_ if he gets to make up with some of it. Come on, who do you take me for?”

Tyrion shakes his head. “Never mind. I _know_ , it’s just — well, it’s going to be good for him, I think. Should we go get that luggage?”

Brienne nods and they go take the suitcases — it’s two of them plus a backpack, nothing _that_ much since they’re not even large even if they’re heavy, and then there’s a bag that’s obviously for the cats’s things.

“Right,” she says, “I can bring them up, it’s fine.”

“Sure?” Bronn asks.

“I’m sure, just go have your romantic evening,” she says — Bronn flips her the finger and Tyrion has the grace to look somewhat embarrassed. Then he clears his throat.

“Just, you _know_. Keep an eye on those two.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve handled your brother for years, I think I can handle them both.”

“I knew you would,” he grins, then gets on the car.

She watches them leave, puts the backpack on her shoulders and goes up the stairs after grabbing the suitcases — the cat things will most likely stay on the first floor anyway.

Then Jaime gets out of the guest room and sees her coming. “Oh, great,” he says, “I did give him a tour but I need to look for a thing in the attic, maybe you can help him start unpacking while I do?”

“I’ve got it,” she says. “Go to the _attic_.” She stops as he moves past her and heads for the stairs leading up to it, and then she brings the suitcases inside. Jaime picked the largest guest room, and he _did_ put away the posters in here and pretty much anything that wasn’t furniture — _he’s going to want to put his things in, I guess, he shouldn’t have my crap lying around —_ and Tommen actually looks like he’s not quite believing he lucked out this much.

_If only you knew_ , Brienne thinks.

“Hey,” she says. “How are you liking your room?”

“Miss Brienne,” he replies, sounding awed.

“No need to be that formal,” she says. “Really, _he_ ’s the least formal person in existence.”

“All right. Well, it’s… really nice, actually. And he said I don’t have to keep the cats in at night, which is great because I think they found it a bit cramped back home, but eh, Mom didn’t want them to be around.”

“I see. And what did he go get in the attic?”

“Oh,” he says, and his face about _brightens_ , “I told him that I got into Queen because I went to see the movie with Uncle Tyrion, so he asked who was my favorite and I said he was Freddie because, well, _the cats_ , you know, and he said that he actually had a Freddie poster in the attic but he never hung it up because it didn’t fit anywhere, so he said he’d get it and that I can hang it up.”

He sounds so happy about it, Brienne can’t help grinning back. “Nice. Guess you’ll be the third person with the single picture in front of their bed around here.”

“The _third_?”

“He didn’t show you _his_ room?”

“Not yet — well, the door only.”

Brienne is fairly sure that none of her underwear was around last time she checked, and _Jaime_ cleaned it, so it should be safe. “I think you should come with me,” she says, and brings him to the room on the opposite side of the hall. She opens the door enough to show him that Brian May is taking up half the wall in front of the bed.

“And,” she says as they go back to Tommen’s room, “I have one at my place, too.”

“Wait,” Tommen says as he starts opening one of the suitcases, “don’t tell me who it is. I guess it’s one of the others, right?”

“It is,” she confirms.

“I guess it’s Roger then.”

She laughs. “That didn’t sound like you were _guessing_.”

“Well, he kinda looks like Uncle Jaime, _sort of_ , if you’re together it just makes sense, right?”

_Look at that_. “Impressive. Sounds like you have my type figured out,” she says.

“Hey,” Jaime says from the other side of the hallway, “what are you saying behind my back?”

“He just realized I picked you only because you’re the closest to a Roger substitute I could find, don’t sweat it.”

“I’m _flattered_ ,” Jaime grins. “I wish I’d look that cool in my old age. Anyway,” he says, handing Tommen a poster with the full _Live in Montreux_ cover, “there it is.”

“You know what,” Brienne says, “I’ll go make dinner and you two can undo the suitcases and hang it, how about it?”

“I’d say we can work with that.” Jaime is _not_ sounding like he’s going to explode at any point soon, _good_ , and so she leaves them to their poster-hanging.

By the time she’s done with dinner and she goes back up to warn them, the suitcases are unpacked and the poster is attached to the wall.

Well, she has a feeling all of Jaime’s worrying will end up being for nothing.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey,” Jaime asks Tommen as he stares down at his pancakes without eating them (since he found out that he actually _did_ like them but Cersei forbid any of them bar Joffrey to have sweets outside of _special occasions_ , he’s made a point to bring him out for pancakes at breakfast every Sunday because he’s shit at making them and he can’t ask Brienne to come by _every Sunday_ for that, and it’s nice to get treated anyway), “is there something wrong?”

“Uh, not really,” Tommen says, moving the fruit around the plate. He’s also not looking at him in the eyes.

Given that it’s been a good month and a half and Jaime was fairly sure they got both over the initial awkwardness caused by the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in years, it’s _not_ an exactly good sign. “Yeah, and you’re obviously lying. Your uncle was like that, too.”

“What? Really?”

“He was, until he learned how to do it better. Come on, just dish it out. I swear it can’t be anything bad.”

“It’s just…” Tommen sighs. “Halloween’s in two weeks.”

“Sure it is. And? Do you want to go out? I can call up aunt Genna and ask her if Myrcella —”

“No, uh, I don’t think it would be a good idea.” He eats a blackberry. “It’s, well, the other years, Marcella goes with her friends but I always had to go with Joffrey, and, you know, he always picked the costumes and he got all of the candy, pretty much, which — I don’t want to —”

“Tommen, your brother is a dick and we all know it except my sister, and he’s been a dick since he was born, you can say whatever you want and I sure as hell won’t tell Cersei. I couldn’t, since she can’t even receive calls wherever they sent her.”

Tommen makes a relieved face and cuts a bit of pancake — good. “So — I kind of want to pick the costume, but no one else should know. I mean, maybe Uncle Tyrion _can_ , but other than that — it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“It sounds like the worst costume idea ever, but fair enough, in uni I bet while drunk I’d go as Flash to the one Halloween party I attended and I did, can’t be worse than that. Go ahead.”

Tommen takes a deep, deep breath. “Well. It’s just. I kind of thought it would be nice to go, well, as _one of them_ , but I thought about it and a lot of those costumes are just complicated and stuff, and so I thought, maybe the _I Want to Break Free_ video would be nice, but if I told Mom —”

Jaime pictures Cersei’s reaction at that kind of request — the one time she had seen that video she asked him how could he be into a band of such perverts forgetting that they totally switched clothes on _her_ request when they were kids — and about throws up his coffee.

“ _No_ ,” he says, “she should _absolutely_ never know. But — I mean, okay.”

“Wait, _okay_?”

“Sure,” Jaime says, “why the hell not? I mean, it’s women’s clothes, but there’s nothing wrong with it. And they’re, like, iconic. Who gives a damn.”

“Oh,” Tommen says. “But — wouldn’t people, like, _hate_ it? If I went there dressed like _that_ when I’m not a girl?”

“Your mom said that, I guess,” Jaime groans. “Well, you know what, fuck that, I can dress up, too. Who even would mind then?”

“You — you _would_?” He’s looking at Jaime with such wide, hopeful eyes that now he’d feel like a dick taking it back, if he actually wanted to. Except that he doesn’t want to. What does he even care?

“Sure. Why not?”

“Mom wouldn’t really — I mean, she thought it was stupid to dress up in the first place, and if I went like that —”

“Except for Joffrey, of course. Well, I don’t have any of those hang-ups, so shoot. Which one of them did you want to be? Freddie?”

Tommen, who now doesn’t seem so worried anymore, eats another piece of pancake as he shakes his head. “I mean, it would be _cool_ , but I’d need high shoes, and… no. Also — I mean, I don’t really look like that. It wouldn’t work. Guess I should be Roger.”

Jaime is about to say that he _would_ look adorable, honestly, but then Tommen’s face falls. “But crap, maybe _you_ should be.”

“Uh, why not you?”

“You _really_ look like you could pull it off,” Tommen says, shrugging. “And it would be weird if it was two of us dressed the same way.”

Fair, Jaime supposes, but — damn, he _did_ sound excited before. And he’s right, Jaime _really_ couldn’t pull anyone else off without looking utterly ridiculous, but —

“And what if,” he says, leaning forward, “it didn’t have to be just _us_?”

“… Because you know anyone else who’d be down with it?” Tommen asks.

Jaime grins. “Did you forget _who_ is my girlfriend?”

Tommen’s eyes go wide in understanding. “Oh. She doesn’t look like — I mean, she always wears trousers and stuff, she said she doesn’t really like dresses once, I didn’t think she’d —”

“I think for _this_ she might make an exception. Hey, let’s just call her, how about it?”

He takes his phone and calls her, hoping that she doesn’t kill him for that — on Saturday evening she volunteers to drive ambulances for the NHS paramedics so she usually goes to bed at six in the morning —, but she always _did_ like that video, and they _might_ have spiced things in bed a bit a few times through, well, Jaime wearing not exactly male garb, so _maybe_ if he bribes her enough, she’d be up for it.

It rings five times, then she picks it up. “Jaime,” she says, sounding like she just woke up, “you’d better have an excuse for calling me after volunteering.”

“Sorry, but Tommen here has an urgent inquiry and we need your input.”

“Okay,” Brienne says, “if it’s _Tommen_ I guess I won’t kill you. What’s up?”

“It’s Halloween in two weeks,” he says. “And he wants to go out in costume.”

“Okay.”

He puts her on speaker. “Tommen, how about you explain her the issue?”

“It’s just,” Tommen starts, “I thought I could go like Roger in the _Break Free_ video, you know, but then if _he_ ’s coming too then he also should be Roger.”

“Of _course_ he should be Roger,” Brienne declares, “I’d never let him live it down if he dared going as anyone else. So?”

“So, well, it’d be weird if it was just the two of us and it was the same costume, so he was thinking maybe you could join? Dressed as one of the others?”

For a moment, there’s utter silence coming from the other side of the line.

Jaime really hopes he hasn’t _fucked_ —

“I’m Brian,” she says. “And that’s _final_.”

“Oh. Okay, sure, that’d be great,” Tommen says, sounding ecstatic. “At least it’d be three —”

“Hold on,” she groans, “I think I know two people who actually couldn’t wait to go along with this.”

“Wait a moment,” Jaime asks, “are you _actually_ thinking of asking —”

“ _Now_ ,” Brienne says, “I’m going to go back to sleep because I’m crashing, then when I wake up I’m going to call both of them hoping they’re not otherwise occupied and can’t talk to me, _then_ I’m going to tell them, and if they say no I’m going to be extremely surprised. Now let me sleep,” she says, and closes the call.

“… That was interesting,” Jaime says, putting the phone away and going back to his own pancake. “Cheer up, we’re getting the whole gang together.”

“But — do you know who she means?”

Jaime stuffs a piece of pancake, strawberry and whipped cream in his mouth. “Sure. Her bff from high school and his boyfriend. The bff is _exactly_ the kind of person who’d jump at the chance to go around in heels, a miniskirt and fake tits, the boyfriend — well, he’s pretty much like that _and_ has killer make-up skills _and_ a grandmother who’d lend him clothes if he asked, so I think we’ve got this.”

“Wait, so we can go as _all four_ of them?”

“Totally. I solemnly swear that the pictures are _not_ going to leave my phone. Also, your whipped cream is going to go bad in a few.”

“Oh. _Right_ ,” Tommen grins, digging into it with a renewed enthusiasm, and Jaime goes back to worrying about his damned food instead of wishing that he had done something _more_ to be in the kid’s life _earlier_ than this and instead of reminding himself that Cersei’s apparently leaving rehab by Christmas and so he has to try and make sure he makes as much of the time he has as he can.

If it means he has to spend Halloween going around dressed in drag like a damned schoolgirl, so be it.

——

After lunch, he’s _this_ tempted to tell Tommen that they should just go and try to find at least their own clothing, but before he can go through with it, Brienne calls him.

“Are you in?” She asks.

“Yeah, both of us. Why?”

“Because I called them and before I finished speaking Loras had gone on a rant about how _precious_ it was and _of course_ he was down for it, Renly about tearfully asked if it _really_ was his chance to rehash the costume he wore at the celebratory post-graduation party in high school —”

“Wait, he did that already?”

“‘Course he did, that’s why I called him, I remember when he showed up in it and I think he still has the fake breasts somewhere. So, Loras said that at least _he_ was showing up this afternoon with half of the crap in his grandmother’s attic because like _hell_ he’s going to let us do this cheaply, we need to go all-fucking-out on it. Which means I’m coming over at some point and you should both be in the house. He also says he can totally steal the wigs from the discarded props department of that theater he’s working at, so no need to worry about that.”

“… I guess they’re hardcore about this kind of stuff, huh?”

“You know them, don’t you? Be there, you’ll have to try stuff out.”

“Wait, he’s _really_ coming here with all the shebang?”

“You’ve _met_ them, they take this stuff seriously. See you both later, and you’ll _owe_ me for making me wear pink.”

She closes the call and Jaime doesn’t know if he should be scared of Loras Tyrell’s efficiency when it comes to this kind of thing or not.

He’ll settle for making himself coffee first.

——

Loras _does_ indeed show up just after Brienne does.

With _three_ duffel bags choke-full of — _whatever_ it is that they need.

“Loras,” Jaime says cautiously, “we don’t need to do it _today_.”

Loras sends him an entirely nonplussed look. “But we have _two weeks_ and if adjustments have to be made to the costumes I found you in the discarded stuff, then it’s not that long. Also, Brienne?”

“Yes…?”

“You should probably thank the stars that my great-grandmother was fairly tall _and_ into silk nightgowns.” He opens one of the duffels, rustles inside it and then throws at her what looks like a bundle of pink silk. “Try that on, I think it’s pretty much the same stuff. I also have a wig for you and everything but we’ll worry about it later.”

“Right, right, I’m going,” she says, and disappears into the bathroom.

“Now,” Loras says, turning straight to Jaime, “I’m fairly sure the stuff I got for you is fine.”

“… Why’s that?” Jaime asks, accepting the pile of clothing Loras hands him. “ _Because_ , I had to dress personally everyone in the _Hamlet_ production we ran for a month and the lead had exactly your build. You can try them later. Now, about _him_.” He turns and grins at Tommen, who is cautiously looking excited but also like he has no idea of what he should be expecting. “I think the clothes I found you are good, I don’t have the exact same tie but I can find one before Halloween turns around.”

“Do you have yours already?”

“Oh, I think my grandmother can’t wait to dump all her _horribly old black coats on me_ , I’m fine.”

“… Your _grandmother_ is fine with it?”

“Sure,” Loras shrugs. “Never blinked an eye. And there’s nothing wrong with a bit of dressing up, just give it a go. I’ll get you the wig while you change?”

“Okay. Thanks,” Tommen blurts, and then he runs off in the next room.

Jaime lets a breath out, then looks through all his clothes. White shirt, pencil skirt, fuck, _white socks_ , and — long blonde wing, obviously, his hair isn’t long enough for _that_ kind of ponytail.

“Just to say it beforehand,” he says, “any picture you take does _not_ reach anyone related to me, all right?”

Loras sends him a fairly amused stare, then smirks in a way that Jaime doesn’t like at all. “I see,” he says, “keeping it hidden from your illustrious father?”

“Please, if both he and my sister find out they’re murdering me before I can blink.”

“Hm,” Loras says, “not fans of some healthy gender exploration?”

“Don’t even joke about it,” Jaime answers. “And since I think this is going to be the one time he gets to do it, I suppose I can indulge as well.”

“Well, from what I hear you’d win parenting awards in comparison to your sister.”

“Jaime, you _will_ owe me for this,” Brienne says a moment later as she walks out of the door, and —

_Well_.

She’s only wearing the soft bunny slippers and the nightgown, and Jaime doesn’t know how the hell Loras managed to find one that not only is pink silk, but also has the same kind of lace embroidering of the original. It _doesn’t_ exactly fit her — that shade of pink never was a good color on her, and it shows exactly how wide her shoulders are, and since her arms are bare you can absolutely see the muscles toned by years of fencing, but hey, _that_ also was a reason why Jaime could talk for an hour about why he thinks his girlfriend might be unattractive to others but _not to him_. He’s _entirely_ into fencing-related muscles.

“Oh, come on,” Loras tells her, “you absolutely look the part, and we all know you’re his spiritual twin, try the wig.”

“Good lord,” Brienne sighs as she takes it and puts it on — Loras put the hair rollers on it already, so she just has to go to the mirror to put it on. In the end, she actually looks… the part, definitely. Fine, she’s too tall and broad, and pink is _not_ her color, but as a dress-up? It’s _spot-on_. And the combination of the whole thing along with the fuzzy bunny slippers actually looks cute.

“I’m _really_ good at this,” Loras tells himself, _very_ proudly.

“I’m not going to tell you the contrary,” Brienne sighs. “Ah, well, it could be worse, I could be _any other_ of those three.”

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, “I’d _love_ to see those legs of yours in a leather miniskirt, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, in your dreams. And I’m not wearing bloody heels at any point ever,” she says, but she sounds like she’s having fun, and now that he looks at how that gown falls on her, he can see that it actually shows off her ass quite nicely, and okay, maybe he should stop thinking about it before he gets hot and bothered when Tommen is most likely about to come out of the room —

On cue, the door opens but he _doesn’t_ come out of it.

“Tommen,” Brienne calls, “however that looks on you, it _can’t_ possibly be more embarrassing than my outfit.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then Tommen _does_ come out of the room, and — well, fine, Loras _can_ do his job. The pencil skirt and socks fit him perfectly, same as the white shirt. He’s holding up the tie as he walks forward, but — those clothes _really_ fit him. And they’re _cute_ , all right?

“Look at that,” Loras says, “I don’t have to make adjustments. Right, let me come fix the rest. Also, tell Brienne how great she looks.”

Tommen looks at her and seems frankly in awe. “That looks _amazing_ ,” he says.

“Oh, surely you and _him_ will look more amazing than me, but thank you.”

“Wait,” Loras says, kneeling in front of him and talking the tie, putting the other blonde wig he had on the ground. “Let me fix this up. I’ll get you a proper one before Halloween.” He knots it, then grabs the wig. He already made the pigtails. Wait, _Jaime_ ’s also has pre-made pigtails. “I’ll find the bows as well but for now it’ll do. Right, it fits.” He puts it on, then leans back. “Well, seems to me like you chose the right one,” he says, moving back, and — okay, yeah, nothing to say. He looks frankly adorable, and with those huge eyes he _really_ fits the part. Tommen looks at himself in the mirror, his eyes going wide but obviously liking the sight, and Jaime tries to _not_ think about how much he’s missed out on.

“Wow,” he says as one of the cats comes up to him, rubbing against his leg, “thank you, this — looks so good, I can’t — but shouldn’t _you_ try it on, too?”

“Yeah,” Brienne says, “ _try it_.”

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Jaime relents, heading for the bedroom. He quickly takes off his clothes, wonders where the fuck did Loras find stockings that fit him, puts them on along with the socks, ties the pencil skirt — wow, _that_ fits, too —, buttons the white shirt, knots the tie. Christ, _everything fits_. He breathes in and puts on the wig, then doesn’t even look at himself before walking out of the room.

“Here,” he says, “is everyone happy now?”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Loras says, “you look like damned twins.”

Jaime moves in front of the mirror. _All right_ , nothing to add. Those clothes fit him, that hair somehow doesn’t look _idiotic_ on him and he supposes that with the right make-up he actually might make a fairly good case, and then he glances at Brienne, and —

_Fuck_. She’s looking at him with slightly widened blue eyes, her lips slightly parted, and Jaime recognizes that look. It’s her _I want to nail you to the wall_ look, and that’s — well, it’s _interesting_ and he’s going to worry about that later, because now Tommen is walking up next to him, and — Loras has a point.

“Huh,” Jaime says. “How about that. You were right, we totally should _both_ have been Roger.”

Tommen looks fairly happy about it.

“Just wait until I come back here on the 31st and I put the both of you in the proper make-up,” Loras grins.

“Wait,” Tommen says, “we — we _can_ put on make-up?”

Jaime shrugs. “We have to dress up. Sure, why the hell not? Or you’d rather skip on it?”

“No, uh, I thought it would be fun, but I didn’t — I mean, Mom says that it’s just for women, and Joffrey would —”

“Joffrey’s a dick,” Jaime cuts him, “and we established that. Brienne, do we mind make-up?”

“ _You_ can wear as much of it as you want,” she says, “I’m fine with this for now. But why wouldn’t you? If you look good in it, you should wear it. And Joffrey _does_ sound like a dick, even if I never had the displeasure.”

Tommen cracks up at that as he leans down to cuddle the cat, and Jaime decides that even if he’s going to feel embarrassed about the damned pigtails for the next ten years, he’s totally doing this. If Cersei finds out somehow, tough luck.

——

On Halloween, Renly and Loras show up three hours before they should go out, with _more_ bags, a make-up kit that honestly scares the shit out of Jaime, two matching grins that Jaime absolutely does _not_ like and an old pink vacuum cleaner.

“You had _that_ , too?” Jaime asks, feeling honestly scared at how prepared they ended up being.

“Of course I did,” Renly says. “Who the hell do you take me for? If I have to dress up like an icon I’m not going to half-ass it.” Brienne is _obviously_ trying not to laugh and Jaime decides he should just resign himself to his destiny.

“So,” Loras says, “ _mine_ is going to be harder than anyone else’s so we should just worry about yours before I transform into the hottest old lady you’ll ever see. Brienne, you don’t need make-up so you can just wait, it’s useless if you have to spend three hours in costume. You three, go get changed, then I’m doing the make-up, then I’m going to get dressed and Brienne can do that last minute. We’re totally owning this. Jaime, Tommen, this is the new proper tie, get it.”

Jaime refrains from making a very bad joke about how it sounds like Loras has re-watched too much _Mary Poppins_ recently and flees to the bedroom while Tommen scrams to his own and Renly says something about _doing it here, it’s not like you or Brienne haven’t seen anything already_.

Jaime is _so_ going to take his time changing, he so _is_.

——

He ties his yellow and pink tie some ten minutes later, hoping that it’s enough for Renly to have, well, _put on clothes_. The wig now has the bows, too, and he only needs the make-up to be done.

When he comes back to the living room, Renly is fixing his wig in front of the mirror and — right, fine, that costume is top-notch. The skirt is _exactly_ the same, shirt and wig are pretty much a split copy, and pink looks better on _him_ than Brienne, who is trying to not erupt into giggle fits as Renly mutters something about needing to get re-adjusted to wear heels. He also has some fake mustache ready to wear, but he figures he’ll put it on after the make-up.

Except that then he comes into the room and Renly lets out a whistle.

Loudly.

“The hell,” he says, hoping against hope that he’s _not_ pouting while wearing this specific get-up.

“ _Woah_ ,” Renly says, “ _now_ I get why Brienne totally couldn’t tear her eyes off you when she noticed you the first time.”

“ _… What_?”

“Come on,” he goes on, “you definitely make a prettier girl than half of the women I know. Given that she’s been crying over the original since she was twelve, only stands to reason she’d be into _you_ at first sight.”

“Guys, we never said you were allowed to bring _that_ up,” Brienne groans, but then she looks at him and Jaime can see the moment her throat gets way, _way_ drier.

_Huh_.

He grins. “Well, might as well own it.” He glances at himself in the mirror. Fair enough. He _does_ look better like this than Brienne ever would.

“That’s the spirit. Go sit down, I’m on you in a minute.”

He could go to the free sofa. He goes next to Brienne’s, instead. “Let me guess,” he whispers, “you’re not thinking very chaste things right now, are you?”

“What do you _think_?” Brienne hisses. “Of course I’m _not_.”

“Well, I never said I wasn’t up to wear this _later_ ,” he winks. “As long as you keep yours on, too. I mean, it wouldn’t be fair if I was the only one wearing embarrassing get-up, right?”

“As far as _you_ are concerned, it’s hardly embarrassing,” she mutters, but her cheeks are flushed and her tongue just wet her lips. “But all right. That’s fair. _Later_.”

It’s probably a good thing that Tommen comes into the room just after he says that otherwise this would have turned _way_ raunchier, and Brienne kicks him off the sofa so they can sit together on the next one — Jaime knots the tie for him while Renly says he absolutely approves of how _nicely_ they match and then gets back to looking at Loras in the eyes while Loras fixes his mascara.

“They’re cool,” Tommen says under his breath. “Aren’t they?”

“I’ve known them for too long to agree on them being _cool_ ,” Jaime says, “but I can see your point. They — yeah, okay, they’re asses sometimes but they are. And Loras _has_ his uses. Renly, on the other side —”

“Lannister, when minors aren’t present I can list you all the way Loras _thinks_ I’m useful,” Renly says, and Brienne goes red in the face before telling him to can it. Tommen snorts, Jaime resolutely ignores the text Tyrion sent him ten minutes ago and waits for Loras to be finished with Renly, hoping that it doesn’t take too long for either of them.

It doesn’t for _Tommen_ — Loras keeps it light, thankfully, and sticks mostly to a bit of eyeshadow and the light pink lipstick.

Then he looks at him with a grin that Jaime doesn’t like _at all_.

“Now it’s _your_ turn,” he says, almost ominously.

Jaime resigns himself to his destiny.

——

Turns out: his destiny is the _full-on_ proper make-up — when Loras declares himself satisfied and says he’s going to give himself some wrinkles, he leaves him with _visible_ pink eyeshadow all over his brow and eyelids, carefully lined with dark brown eye pencil, his face masterfully covered in concealer (yeah, he shaved, but he figured it was for a good cause), blush on his cheekbones and that damned baby pink lipstick with _gloss_ over it.

“Look at that,” Renly says, “you could fool anyone. Too bad Brienne’s actually wearing pink for once or people would have totally thought _she_ was the boyfriend.”

“Hilarious,” Brienne says, but there’s no bite in it. “I’ll, uh, I’ll change.”

She’s blushing as she glances at him.

Jaime thinks he’s _really_ looking forward to what happens _after_ they come back home.

Then he figures that _maybe_ Tyrion can be made aware of the situation — he calls Tommen over and he snaps a picture of the two of them in costume, then sends it with a _please delete this as soon as you see it_ caption.

Tyrion replies a moment later. _I will, but I still think suggesting this arrangement was one of the best ideas I ever had. Please don’t traumatize too many little old ladies_.

_The little old ladies probably swooned over one of them in the eighties,_ Jaime thinks, and puts the phone back into his pencil skirt.

——

Then Loras walks out of the bathroom with his grandmother’s black clothes on, and _holy shit_ , fine, he’s good — he’s managed the lines, the gray wig would confuse a _lot_ of people and honestly, Jaime has to grudgingly appreciate his skills out loud.

“Well,” he says, “you make as good an old lady as John Deacon did.”

“I’ll accept it just because I _did_ nag you about yours.”

“Nice to see I’m the only one who totally _doesn’t_ look like the part,” Brienne says, fixing her wig. “But never mind. It’s good enough.”

“By the way,” Loras tells her, “you can totally keep the gown if you want. I mean, no one needs it where it comes from and you might want a souvenir.”

Then he _winks_ at the both of them.

Fuck.

He _knows_ , doesn’t he?

He’d like to ask Brienne, but there’s no time and Tommen looks about to burst out of his skin with excitement, so he’ll just — deal with it.

Well, here it goes to the next three hours or so going around the neighborhood with a pencil skirt, fake pigtails with _bows_ and pink make-up.

At least Tommen looks like he’s entirely enjoying the prospect.

——

“How _cute_ ,” says the red-headed guy with pale blue eyes in his forties at whose door they knocked when getting to the end of Jaime’s street as he opens it. Or well, he says that when he looks at Tommen’s get-up, then notices theirs. “Wow, all right, that’s taking Halloween seriously,” he says, sounding amused. Good, Jaime supposes.

Tommen opens his mouth. “No need to ask,” the guy says, “effort deserves reward.” Then he reaches to his right and comes out with what looks like a bunch of different Lindt chocolates — he drops half in the bag Tommen had with, then looks at the four of them. Then he throws Jaime the rest — now that he looks at it, it’s all alcoholic pralines.

“There,” he says, “while they never were my favorite band, I always had a thing for blondes. Enjoy the nice stuff.”

Then he closes the door and Jaime wants to _die_ — did the guy just hit on him? Or imply that —

“Woah,” Loras says, checking the doorbell, “I think Mr. _Connington_ and Brienne had similar tastes when they were kids.”

“How about we move on to _the next street_ ,” Jaime groans while Tommen looks like he’ll burst out laughing in the span of the next ten minutes, good for him. They walk back on the main road, which is also full of people in costume — Renly grins so broadly at some woman who’s looking at them as if she thinks they’re possessed by the devil that Jaime thinks she might get blinded or _something_. He also tries to not pay attention at how the guy is moving that damned fake vacuum cleaner because at _that_ the woman turns bright red and ushers her kid along. The kid, to his merit, seemed _way_ more interested in their get-up than her.

“How many of those you got yet?” He asks as Tommen looks down at his earnings.

“… More than I ever got in my entire life put together?” He replies, half-smiling, and — fine. Entirely worth it, as far as Jaime’s concerned, if it means at least he gets something nice out of it. Except that —

“I’ve got to talk to Brienne a moment, you mind going ahead with those two menaces?”

“They’re nice,” Tommen replies, very seriously.

“See, your nephew has way more sense than you,” Loras says.

“Yeah, just come over with us,” Renly says. “Actually, you can help me push this thing until the next house, it’s starting to be heavy.”

Tommen is only too glad to.

Jaime lets them go ahead and falls into step with Brienne, who of course is slower than the whole lot of them since she’s actually walking in the fake slippers and they’re not exactly ideal to be out on the street.

“Hey,” he asks her, “you didn’t mind _that_ , did you?”

“What,” she replies, “that the guy from before was obviously into men and likes blondes? Please, as if _I_ am not into men and I don’t like blondes.” She’s blushing ever so slightly as she says it. “I mean, it’s not like he did anything other than making it clear and giving you the good stuff, why should I even care?”

… Fine, he _never_ told her that back in the day if any of Cersei’s friends even talked to him beyond saying good morning and good afternoon and worst of all, if any of them seemed to be into him, they usually ended up changing schools because their reputation would be ruined in the span of two days, in the best cases, so the fact that she doesn’t really seem to care is honestly relieving… but then again he supposes that’s how healthy relationships should be like.

“Never mind.” He shakes his head. “Cersei would be plotting his demise.”

“Wow, I should be doing that because he has good taste? Outrageous.”

She elbows him slightly in the side, and damn but seeing her in dark hair is _weird_.

“How is that wig working for you?”

“I can’t wait to tear it off,” she answers sincerely, “but honestly? He’s having fun, _you_ are having fun even if you’re pretending not to, it’s still way better than the other two alternatives, and it’s hardly the worst thing I ever had to do in my entire life. Now go ahead before Renly completely corrupts that poor kid and enjoy it, we can have our alone time _later_.”

At that, he can’t help grinning back at her. “Oh, so you’ve been spending the entire time thinking about what you’ll do to me in this get-up later?”

“What if I have been?”

“Then I’m really glad people in university who thought you were all _innocent_ and too boring for this world were wrong.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes him forward, and after he joins the other three he makes clear that maybe they should all slow down, so as Renly and Loras fall behind to wait for Brienne to catch up to them, he moves next to Tommen in the front again.

“I hope Renly didn’t traumatize you for life.”

“What? No, he just told me about the first time he used that costume. It seemed… exciting, I guess.”

Knowing Renly, Jaime can’t really doubt _that_.

“So.” He clears his throat, putting a hand on Tommen’s back, hoping his tone of voice doesn’t fuck it up. “How are you enjoying the evening so far?”

“It’s the _best_ ,” he answers sincerely, and if Jaime thinks that it’s not going to happen again, most likely —

He shakes his head. “Then how about we move over to the next house? There are another two streets to go, after all.”

Tommen is only too glad to proceed.

By the time they’ve gone through the neighborhood, Tommen’s bag is almost overflowing with candy, Jaime still has all his good stuff thanks to Not Really Straight Guy From His Street, Renly and Loras managed a good medium-sized portion in between the two of them and Brienne also got some from a few of the old grandmas who opened the door and realized she was the only woman in the group. All in all, not a bad haul whatsoever.

When, as they go home, Tommen quietly tells him that it was the nicest time he ever had at Halloween and thanks him for the effort, he about spills everything, but —

No. He wouldn’t want to ruin it, would he, so he plays along, offers Loras and Renly a drink or two after they get back home and at least the two of them change, sees Tommen to bed saying that he’ll take care of changing just after and then heads for _his_ own bedroom.

He hasn’t changed for one damned reason, after all.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“ _Well_ ,” Jaime says as soon as the door closes, “that was — an _experience_.”

Brienne cannot disagree on _that_. And against all odds, it’s an experience she actually didn’t dislike as much as she had figured in the beginning, regardless of how much she hates wearing pink.

“Sure it was,” she says, “and I think we had an agreement, didn’t we?”

“Hm, we did.” And then he smirks just slightly, barely showing his teeth, and Brienne has the distinct feeling that all her blood goes to her cheeks at once, but — listen, that get-up was hot to _her_ when she watched that video for the first time years ago, and one thing is seeing her long-time celebrity crush in it, another is _the man she’s in love with_ wearing it without a care in the world, and fuck, she’s _not_ going to tear away that shirt. She’s _not_.

“But,” he goes on, “if it’s all the same to you I’d get rid of the wig, it’s itching like there’s no tomorrow.”

“As long as I can ditch mine,” she agrees. Hers is _also_ itching like hell and she doesn’t really want to slam him against the wall while she’s wearing fake hair rollers.

“Deal,” he says, “dark hair on you is unsettling.” He grins, throwing the wig on the chair, and she does the same as well, but she _doesn’t_ take off her gown or her fake pearls. She does ditch the pink bunny slippers as well, figuring that she won’t need them. Then she sees Jaime about to take off his own stockings, but she shakes her head.

“Don’t,” she whispers, “I kind of want the full package.”

“Do you,” he says. “Well then. As long as we don’t make _too much_ noise, I’m down with it. Fuck, have you ever actually worn a dress since we met?”

“Probably not,” she admits, moving closer, “but it would still look better on you than me. That said, _this_ is your get-up, not the one I have on,” she says, running her hands over his hip.

“Is it,” Jaime grins. “Then maybe you should show me exactly how much you’re liking it?”

She reaches up, tugging slightly at his hair, curling her fingers around a few strands. “I’ve been wanting to since you tried it on.”

“Oh, so you’ve thought about it since _then_? What it is that you thought about?”

“Hm,” she says, a hand moving under the skirt — shit, he wore what feels like one of those silk panties he puts on from time to time under it, and the stockings are stopping just mid-thigh, so she actually doesn’t even need to pull them off to —

_To_ —

“I was thinking about that one pink strap-on in your second drawer. _After_ I hold you up against the wall for a while. And you don’t take _any_ of these off except maybe the shoes.”

Years ago, she’d have felt ridiculous saying this kind of thing out loud.

But _now_ that she’s been with him for months _and_ it’s been exceedingly good to forget feeling self-conscious about her looks, she doesn’t.

“So,” she goes on, a hand moving on the small of his back, “what do you say?”

“I’d say,” he smirks, “ _God knows_ , I _don’t_ want to break free right now.”

… _That_ , Brienne decides, was _it_ , and at that point she can’t wait anymore — she kisses him as she pushes him up against the wall and he immediately throws his arms around her shoulders and when she moves her hands under his thighs, lifting him up, she hears his shoes hit the floor as he wraps his legs around her back.

She can feel his dick pressing up against her ridiculous pink gown through the pencil skirt and _fuck_ , how long has he been hard already?

Fair, it’s not as if _she_ hasn’t been waiting for this for the entire evening either — she kisses him a moment later, feeling his legs curl tighter around her back as he moans into her mouth, and if she can taste some of that disgusting white chocolate he ate before, she can’t care less. His dick keeps on pressing against her crotch as her hands grasp tighter at his ass, feeling bare skin _and_ the lace where his stockings end — damn, _damn_ , she has to remember to not rip them off at all.

“Still _not_ wanting to break free?” She gasps when they part for breath — he opens his eyes and shakes his head.

“Hell, _no_ ,” he immediately shoots back, “definitely not. I’m _never_ putting it on, mh, _any_ of your future mixtapes.”

“I’m touched,” she grins, thinking about the _twenty_ she has stashed in a box at home.

( _He still makes her one every few months. The first one was to celebrate that t_ hey were actually friends _, which she had thought was kind of teenager-like but adorable, and then he’s made her a handful per year, and she’s kept them all. No one actually bothered to do such a thing for her so meticulously before._ )

Then she kisses him again. And _again_.

By the time her arms are feeling some of the strain, she can feel that he’s way beyond half-hard under that skirt, and he’s moaning into her mouth without restraint (not that she’s _not_ doing it as well), and fuck, her underwear is most likely damp by what she can feel. She needs it off. And she needs something else _on_ , instead.

She doesn’t break the kiss as she moves him away from the wall and takes the few steps that divided them from the bed, letting him fall on it and then moving on top, then breaking the kiss to take a breath.

“You really like to make a man feel like doing nothing, don’t you?” He grins as he lies back on it, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, regardless of how his erection is painfully visible under that skirt.

“Shut up, you like it,” she grins, moving back to stand and pushing her soaked underwear off her legs.

“Maybe,” he says, “but does that mean I don’t even get a taste?”

She walks back to a dresser standing in front of the bed, unlocking the first drawer without breaking eye contact with him — she knows what’s inside and where. “You _might_ ,” she decides, “but later.”

She reaches into the drawer, taking out that dumb mock gift Renly gave her for her birthday after she and Jaime got together. Or better, _he_ had decided it was a mock gift because of the color, but the moment she saw Jaime’s face when he looked at the bright pink strap-on in the box (with annexed _three_ different heads) she had realized that he actually seemed to be interested, but she had refused to actually wear _that_ pink monstrosity for a couple of months and they tried with another one of a more sensible color.

Then they had ended up using it once when one of the cats had somehow found the other and mistook it for lunch and to her chagrin, it actually… was fairly comfortable, and according to Jaime it felt _really damn good_ , so while now they did get another couple of less _horrible_ palette choices… sometimes she does use it.

And it does look like _this_ is one of them — hell, for once it’s gonna match her outfit.

Jaime hasn’t moved his eyes from her as she did that, but he also has leaned on the side to grab some lube from the nearby nightstand — he throws it her way with a way too satisfied grin and she catches it in her free hand.

“Thanks,” she says, moving on her knees on the bed. “No moving. Or you don’t want to enjoy the show?”

“Oh, I think I _really_ do,” he grins, moving back slightly as she raises the gown — at least it’s fairly convenient when it comes to do _this_ without hassle — and ties the blasted pink harness around her hips — thankfully the medium-sized fake dick that went with it was already in place and she doesn’t bother to switch. She has a feeling none of them wants to wait enough for the necessary preparations for the large one and that one is _bright neon_ pink, this one is… a more sober _not-neon_ shade, at least. When she’s satisfied it’s not going to move, she brings her attention to Jaime again — he’s still lying against the bed without a care in the world, with crossed legs under that skirt, no shoes and he has slightly opened up the tie, and his make-up has barely smudged.

She takes a very, very deep breath.

“What,” he winks, “you’re fulfilling some long-harbored fantasy?”

She puts her hand on his shoulder, pushing him back slowly. “I don’t know,” she asks, “are _you_?”

He snorts, moving a finger just under the edge of the thigh, lowering it just slightly. “Maybe I am. I’m also waiting.”

Brienne thinks her throat is so dry it would hurt to speak right now, so she settles on getting to work and raises the skirt up.

He _really_ did wear panties underneath. These ones are black and sleek but definitely with a feminine cut — they have lace-trimmed hems, for that matter — and she lowers them very, very slowly. He’s raging hard underneath and there are _things_ she could do, but right now she thinks she really needs to get down to business before both of them burst, so she grabs the lube, coats her fingers with it and moves forward.

“Care to let me?” She asks.

“Never said I play hard to get,” he replies, immediately parting his legs — she reaches over, puts a pillow under his back and proceeds to work her fingers inside him. She takes her time, not wanting to rush it even if damn it but she’s _burning_ in between her legs, especially with the way Jaime’s looking up at her.

“Sure you don’t want to cop a feel?” He asks, lowering down the collar of the shirt a bit. That make-up isn’t doing anything to _not_ distract her, damn it.

“Maybe later,” she agrees, moving a second finger inside him and leaning so that she can jerk him off at least some, not enough that he’d come but at least to give him some relief. He moans out loud as she does, one of his legs hooking up behind her back, under the nightgown, and she adds a third finger soon after, adding more lube to it, and damn but the feel of the stockings on her skin is driving her crazy and she’s really, _really_ glad that she’s wearing a strap-on and she had to ditch her underwear, or it’d be ruined by now.

She breathes in and out.

“Can I —” She starts.

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” he agrees, his hips thrusting up towards her. “Not like we haven’t done this already, I know what to expect.”

“Yeah, well, I’d still rather make sure,” she breathes, giving his dick a last stroke and grabbing the lube so she can coat herself with it — she runs it over the pink plastic once, twice, and then moves over again, lining up against him, the tip pressing against his opening, her hands going to his shoulders again, grasping the white shirt. “I’m good. Are you —”

“Just go for it,” he interrupts her, and — fine. She pushes in, slow at first because even if they’re both lubed up they still haven’t done this in a while — Jaime holds his breath as she moves forward, but at least he’s _definitely_ not lying about whether it’s painful or not like he might have done once in a while in the early times, and she keeps on going slow, until he breathes out when she’s given the last push and she’s buried herself inside him. His legs are both behind her back now, his hands at her shoulders, and when she opens her eyes and looks down at him, his cheeks are flushed and his make-up is smudged and _fuck_ but she’s not going to last long.

“So,” she says, moving back slightly before thrusting inside him lightly, figuring she’ll try to build it up _some_ , “not wanting to break free yet?”

“Hell _no_ ,” he says, rather enthusiastically. “Fuck, you can go faster, I just — you know, you could have said.”

“What,” she replies, “that I’d have paid good money to french you while you were wearing _this one outfit_?”

“Who’s judging you? Yours is — pretty charming, too,” Jaime moans just as she pushes in _again_ , slightly faster.

“Dunno, I might consider not throwing this away if you like it this much. If you pay me the same favor.”

“Done deal,” he says, “and now how about you fuck me _for real_?”

She smiles. “Done deal,” she echoes, and then she cants her hips and thrusts down _faster_ , her hands moving to Jaime’s face and kissing him full as she picks up the pace, sliding in and out of him, swallowing his moans every single time she hits the right place inside him, his legs tightening on her back, but not enough that she can’t slip in and out, in and out, until she can feel how hard he is against her leg, and maybe she should reach down, but she likes the position they’re in, she likes looking into his bright, clear green eyes as they stare up at her, as if she’s giving him the time of his life when she’s never thought she ever could give _anyone_ the time of their life, and she clenches around the strap-on, feeling really glad that it had a harness or it’d have slipped out now for how wet she is as it hits the right place inside her, too.

“Not enough?” She breathes before leaning down and kissing him again, fucking him faster.

“Hell, _I want it all_ ,” he moans, and all right, _fine_ , that was unfair, and she really can’t hold back anymore — she goes all in, thrusting deep inside him again, and that fake dick might be plastic but _damn it_ if she doesn’t feel it when his legs clench tighttight _tight_ around her and he comes in a rush against her, most likely staining the gown, but she can’t give less of a fuck because she’s coming as well, clenching around the tip that’s inside her again, muttering his name over and over as her hands run through his hair, and she doesn’t know how she doesn’t just crash over him the moment she’s not seeing stars anymore, but she manages to slip out of him and drop to his side instead — their clothes are filthy and the sheets are, too, and he still has the stockings on even if his thighs and _hers_ and her nightgown are stained in come, and when she undoes the strap-on and throws it on the side, she’s still so wet in between her legs, she doesn’t know if she’s ever been this much before.

Jaime’s hand moves just right _there_ , feeling it, and then his mouth curls up into a grin wicked enough that she almost would be scared of it, if it didn’t always mean good things for her.

“I was wondering,” he says, feeling her clit, his fingers sliding inside, “if in your _fantasies_ Roger ever ate you out?”

She thinks her blood goes hotter at once. “What if it was the case?”

“I don’t know,” he says, “I might be down for it. If you’re down for an exchange.”

“What,” she grins, “you wanted Brian to do the same to you?”

“Sort of,” he says. “ _Tie Your Mother Down_ suggested excellent ideas.” He winks at that, and Brienne decides that they’re so _not_ going to sleep anytime soon.

“Deal,” she grins, her hand moving to his hair as he leans down and across her legs and his tongue touches her clit, licking it slowly, before moving in between her legs properly.

Yeah.

She’s _definitely_ taking a day off tomorrow, and she’s not going to regret a single moment of it.

She has a feeling that neither will he.

 


	5. Chapter 5

On November first, he wakes up and reads ten AM on the alarm clock — woah, _damn it_ , it’s a Sunday but it’s _late_ and usually they have breakfast out way earlier. Why hasn’t Brienne woken —

Wait.

Brienne _isn’t_ on the other side of the bed. He reaches out to touch it. It’s just slightly warm, but no way she left recently. He groans and goes to take a quick shower, he’s _really_ not in any shape to be presentable considering that he smells exactly like the bed and the last thing anyone needs here is explaining _anyone_ under the age of fourteen what was going on last night in here; then he quickly puts on a pair of clean sweatpants and the first t-shirt he finds. It’s _obviously_ Brienne’s, it’s a bit large on him and it was crammed in his drawer that she about claimed, and will she ever move in with him one of these days? Admittedly, he’s sure he’ll win this one fight very soon, but for now he decides it’s high time he goes downstairs and find out what’s going on.

He hears someone talking in the kitchen. Wait. It’s _definitely_ Brienne and Tommen. He doesn’t distinguish anything until he’s actually near the door, which is just slightly open so he can’t _see_ them.

“ — not very nice,” Tommen says as Jaime comes closer.

“It’s sweet of you that you’d worry about how I might take it,” she says, “but I _did_ meet your mother a fair share of times and she never made a mystery of what she thought of me. Or, well, me and your uncle being together.”

“So you know?”

“That she thinks we’re _gross_?”

“… Right, you knew.” He sounds dejected, and Jaime feels like shit for not having made his presence clear, but — he doesn’t know why they’re discussing this or how long it’s happened, but somehow he has a feeling his presence would have hindered it.

He doesn’t move.

“So what?” She says. If Jaime can hear her tone right, she’s _definitely_ shrugging. “My father also thinks we’re absolutely gross… in the _good_ sense.”

“Is there a good sense to it?”

“ _You’re so sweet you’re almost gross_ would count to me,” she answers. “Anyway, you were about to say something else before.”

“Oh. Right. No, I mean, it’s just that I figured I should tell you that when they said I’d stay here I was kind of worried because the way she puts it you’re about the worst person in existence, and you’re like, everything _but_ , so — I realized I was worried for nothing after ten minutes, but since you were so nice to organized the entire thing yesterday I thought it wouldn’t be fair if I _didn’t_ tell you.”

Jaime waits outside holding his breath, and he can hear a plate touching the table.

“Well,” Brienne says a moment later, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“I mean, you didn’t have to tell me, but it was — lovely of you that you did. And really, it was a pleasure. No hardship at all. Those two will thank me for months since they couldn’t wait to put on those clothes again.”

Tommen snorts, and Jaime is about to come in, he _is_ , but —

“Your dad’s right, though.”

“About what? Me and your uncle being _so sweet we’re almost gross_?”

“… Well, yes. But it’s a good thing? I mean, at home everyone argues all the time if things go well, I think I’ll take _gross_ over that.”

Right.

He needs to go in before he does something stupid, so he knocks and opens the door.

He’s all set to make some of his usual questionable jokes so that neither of them suspects he was outside, then he stops dead in his tracks when he notices that _she_ cooked the damned pancakes and that she has a stack ready on the side for the two of them while Tommen has half of his already eaten, and for a moment he feels like someone punched him in the stomach with a picture of _but how would you like it if this was what you woke up to every Sunday_.

He has a feeling Brienne guessed it. “Hi,” she says, thankfully _not_ waiting for him to start. “I didn’t wake you up because you looked like you needed to sleep it off. If you want pancakes I’m finishing up these two and I’m good.”

“Who _wouldn’t_ want pancakes,” he mutters as he drops down in his usual seat, noticing that Tommen’s trying to _not_ laugh openly.

Yeah.

He _wishes_ he’d have this wake-up call every damned morning, but he’ll see to enjoy what he has left. He knows there’s no way it’s ever happening, so — better _not_ getting his hopes up or anything.

Not that he hasn’t been proved time and time again that sometimes getting them up pays off, but he has a feeling it’s not _this_ one case, as much as he wishes otherwise.

— —

When a month or so later Tyrion calls him and tells Jaime that Cersei should finish her time around the beginning of January and that she’s definitely expecting to be reunited with at least her two male kids since Myrcella has apparently decided that she doesn’t really want to move from Aunt Genna’s and Jaime can’t blame her whatsoever for it, he thinks that at least he’ll have time to do _one_ Christmas halfway decently before their arrangement has to finish.

Thing is, his father calls to inform Tommen of _that_ personally five minutes later and his previous good mood dies at once, and not even the fact that four of the cats about jump on his lap the moment he closes the call seems to help out.

Jaime clears his throat and sits down next to him, as close as the cats will let him.

“Did he tell you —”

“Yeah,” Tommen sighs. “I mean, I knew it was going to happen, but — I was hoping it’d be later. I know it sounds mean, but —”

“Tommen, I haven’t talked to your mother in _years_ , if you think I’ll find mean that you’d rather not live with her and Joffrey you can reconsider it.”

Tommen _does_ laugh at that, a bit. “It’s just…” He shakes his head, cuddling Whiskers, who has just jumped on his lap. “I… liked staying here.”

“Yeah? Well, I was worried shitless you wouldn’t,” he admits.

“What? I mean, why would you?”

At least he sounds surprised now.

Jaime shrugs again. “I don’t know, it’s not like I — have _experience_ with kids since it’s not like your mom wants me around.” Fuck, he had almost slipped — good thing he hasn’t. “Also, she was really fond of telling me that most of the stuff I did only showed that I was the most immature person on the planet, and while I know she’s wrong —”

“You know, Brienne did tell me you wanted to put the posters down.”

… Of course she did. “Did she?”

“Yeah. And — you shouldn’t have? I mean, it’s cool that you don’t think you don’t get too old for… enjoying stuff. And like, you have a house, you’re not living off the family money and so on, I don’t get why _you_ should be… immature or whatever.”

That’s definitely _not_ untrue, Jaime decides.

“Well, thanks for the trust. At least someone other than your uncle thinks _that_.”

“Myrcella would, too, if she had been here too.” Tommen sighs. “He — he said that she’s going to stay with Aunt Genna, though.”

“Wait, your sister?”

“Yes. Aunt Genna loves having her there and she doesn’t really want to go back and he said he saw no problem with it, but — if she can stay then why do I have to go back?”

Jaime takes a breath, hoping that his heartbeat doesn’t go out of control. “Wait. You mean, you’d want to stay here, too?”

Tommen shrugs. “I mean, you never signed up for it, and it was really put together in a few days, and you probably want your free time back —”

“Hey,” he says, standing up from the sofa and kneeling in front of him. “Don’t, all right? I mean, I did volunteer for it and I was terrified I’d fuck it up, so — I mean, if you wanted to, that’d be fine.”

Tommen looks at him with _his_ damned same green eyes, tentatively hopeful.

“But — I mean, maybe Brienne wouldn’t —”

“Brienne has _gone around the entire neighborhood dressed in pink_ for something that was your idea. Believe me but she wouldn’t do that for just anyone. She’d be delighted if you stayed.”

“Well, I don’t think Mom would be fine with it. From what I guessed she protested about Myrcella but said she expected me to be back there, so —”

That might be a problem, Jaime thinks.

Except that —

“Well,” he says, “it’s mid-December now.”

“So what?”

“And, it’s not like I _don’t_ have access to the family money. Or better, _Tyrion_ has it but he’d be all right with letting me do it.”

“I — don’t get it?”

Jaime smirks.

“And I think Brienne knows someone who works at the registrar’s office.”

“… So?”

“ _So_ ,” he says, “nothing like slipping the right people some money or maybe donating some for their much-needed renovations to make sure that they call someone else in the right places and give _me_ temporary custody.”

Tommen’s eyes go very, very wide. “Would — would you do it?”

“Could be this year’s Christmas present, how about it?”

Tommen gives him a shaky but convinced smile as he nods and hugs him a moment later.

Jaime hugs him back and resolves to splurge as much damned money as he needs to.

——

On Christmas Eve, he leaves the right office with all the papers in hand.

Brienne hadn’t blinked an eye at his request — _I wouldn’t abide to breaking the law like that, but in this case I might make an exception_ —, her contact was a bit tougher to convince but when explained the situation she capitulated and called her husband’s brother who casually _did_ work in the same office that had Cersei’s child custody case, and some more money _did_ fix it. Brienne is on the outside with Tommen, standing outside the door.

“So?” She asks.

“Guess what,” Jaime says, “temporary custody granted. As I _knew_ would happen. Money doesn’t buy you happiness, but never said it sure as hell doesn’t help out when you need it.”

Tommen’s clear eyes go wide all over again. “So — that means —”

“You’re staying another year for sure, then we’re doing an interview and if your mother hasn’t changed _and_ things work out, they’ll most likely prolong it. So, satisfied with the outcome?”

Given that he looks about to cry in happiness, Jaime thinks that the answer’s yes.

“I didn’t think — yes,” he says, flashing them such a sweet smile, Jaime can’t help wondering, _did I ever smile like that when I was his age_?

He doesn’t know.

“Well,” Brienne says, “if you want to celebrate we could get your blasted pancakes for lunch. _And_ , there’s a film club near my place where they’re showing _Bohemian Rhapsody_ again.”

“Oh, _could we_?” Tommen sounds like he’ll die in happiness if they actually do it, and — who is Jaime to say no?

“I’d say it sounds like excellent celebrating. Also, you know you could move in from that cramped studio apartment whenever you liked, don’t you?” He asks Brienne — not that he hasn’t tried to convince her for ages, but apparently she’s attached to that damned place.

She smiles slightly. “You know,” she says, “maybe I’ll consider it. But celebrations first, how about it?”

“Good. And _definitely_. I think we earned it,” he says, winking down at Tommen, who still looks delighted, and as they go down the stairs to Brienne’s car he decides that he doesn’t know how much he lucked out in the last few months —

But he’s definitely not interested in breaking free out of this one specific situation.

_Not at all_. And from the way both his kid — as much as he’ll never know, but he’s fine with being the _cool parental figure_ at this point — and his girlfriend are taking it right now, neither do they.

 

 

End.


End file.
